Wet Ink
by FallingMirrors
Summary: When Albus Severus Potter is sorted into Slytherin house, he feels entirely at odds with himself. Not only is he rejected by his housemates, but he becomes the black sheep of his own family. Searching for a true friend, he finds solace in a small, black book. TMR/ASP, warnings for gore, slash and disturbing imagery.


_Author's Note:_ Hello, there. I've had the plan for this fanfiction in my mind for quite some time now and I've finally gotten around to writing the first chapter. I thought that some interaction between Albus and Tom Riddle would be very interesting, so this is what's become of it. I also liked the idea of Albus being a bit of a black sheep after the conversation he had with Harry at King's Cross in the _19 Years Later _epilogue. And, of course, the idea of Voldemort making a return in the form of Tom Riddle. Although there's little interaction between Albus and Tom in this particular chapter, I just wanted to set the scene a little. Things will progress more quickly later. There are also a few things you should be aware of:

The first is that in this particular world, the war is not generally spoken of. There were so many losses and it was seen as such a dark time that it is not mentioned. This also goes for Voldemort's name and even the name Tom Marvolo Riddle, though hopefully the whole mindset will be explained a little better in Albus' point of view.

The second is that yes, I'm aware Tom Riddle's diary was destroyed and I will be providing an explanation for that later.

The final is a **warning.** As this story is categorised as 'horror' there will be a lot of disturbing imagery later. This includes gore and perhaps a few Nazi Germany references, because I think that there are quite a few parallels. If any of this bothers you, then you're probably better off not reading. This story will also contain the slash pairing of Tom Riddle/Albus Potter, and perhaps a little het sprinkled in here and there if I feel like it.

That's about it, and I hope you enjoy.

_:: Wet Ink ::_

Albus Severus Potter (better known as Al – Al when his father would ruffle his hair, Al when his mother would kiss him goodnight, Al when his older brother James would aim a teasing kick at him or grip him in a headlock) clenched sweaty hands into determined, little fists. His name, of course, was called before Rose's and the fact that he had to go first to the small stool where the ancient Sorting Hat was perched atop the seat like a lamb to the slaughter did nothing to calm his nerves. She gave his skinny forearm a gentle little squeeze before he managed to convince his trembling legs to carry him to the front of the hall. He felt sick, sick to his stomach, as Professor McGonagall placed the hat gently on top of his soft, black crown of hair. It was the aged witch's final year of duty to the school before her inevitable retirement, or so he heard. But now he must focus. Now was the time to make a decision.

He was named after two of the bravest men his father knew, as he had been informed just before boarding the train, and one of them had been a Slytherin. Although the doubt still lingered in the back of his mind, he could not deny that his father's sentiment had stricken somewhat of a nerve; he knew that his father would accept him either way, but the question, the _real _question was whether or not he could bear becoming the inevitable black sheep of the family. His mind was still at war with itself as he settled himself upon the small wooden stool, the dense weight of the hat heavy atop his head.

"_Curious," _the hat murmured in his ear. _"Once again, I am faced with a most difficult choice. Gryffindor... or Slytherin? You would do well in either, of course. Another Potter. How very like your father." _

_Just choose, _he silently pleaded with the hat, _Just choose something quickly. _

"_Hmm, you yourself are undecided. Well, I shall design your fate for you. How about... mixing it up a little? I think that this particular Potter had better be... _SLYTHERIN!"

Immediately, he felt as though a bucket of ice had been dumped directly into his stomach. He should have just chosen Gryffindor, he immediately berated himself as he saw the look of disbelief cross James' face. Something akin to guilt was crawling across his skin as Rose's kind face was struck with something between incredulity and disappointment. No-one applauded, not even his new housemates. Some seemed in a similar state of incredulity and some merely scowled at him. It was broadly known, of course, that Potter was a strictly Gryffindor line. Even old McGonagall's face displayed a lack of certainty, as though she was considering whether or not she should return the hat to his head to double check that he had been sorted correctly. Instead, however, he pushed himself off the stool, the wooden legs making a deafening screech on the floor, and made his way to the Slytherin table, his heart thumping.

The knot in his stomach only tightened as he was faced with the choice of selecting a seat. He took a deep, shuddery breath before dropping himself down next to the boy he recognised as Scorpius Malfoy, the son of his father's old school rival. After all, he mentally grumbled, if he was a Slytherin now he might as well start consorting with 'the enemy' as early as possible. He felt the stares from his housemates, even the seventh years at the head of the table, and the hairs at the back of his skinny neck pricked up unpleasantly. Each one was shooting him odd glances and it was all he could do to keep his eyes focused on the barren tabletop, nimble fingers drumming nervously.

The sorting continued, though the same tenseness still lingered in the room and he was aware that he was still attracting odd glances. Eventually, he steeled himself and turned to Scorpius, his throat barely managing to emit a strangled, "Hi." The blonde boy merely raised a brow at him in return. If he had been expecting a greeting, he was left disappointed. "I'm... Albus Potter," he tried, now aware that he was only drawing more attention to himself.

"I know who you are," Scorpius replied evenly. "And you know who I am as well. Your father is Harry Potter."

"Yes," he mumbled, immediately feeling a lot less brave. This had been a mistake. "I just..." His neck was heating up and he knew it. He detested his ease for blushing. "I thought I would introduce myself."

The Malfoy boy regarded him for one long moment before holding out a slender hand. He could have laughed with relief, but he managed to restrain himself to a smile as he grasped the hand and shook it with gratitude. When his hand was released from Scorpius' cool grasp, the blonde boy once again regarded him quietly, before putting the hateful question to him. "And how do you think your father will react to your sorting?"

Albus was taken aback for a moment, and then he was cowed, turning his gaze back to the tabletop once again with a little shrug. "I don't know. I mean... Well, before I got on the train he said that it didn't matter whether I was in Slytherin or not. He said he didn't mind."

"And do you believe him?"

He had to chew that over for a moment before he could come up with a clear answer and the sudden realisation sickened him. "No. I don't think I do. I think he was just trying to make me feel better."

:: ::

Over the course of their first dinner, Scorpius had done his best to insert himself thoroughly in the workings of Slytherin house. He had mingled with a broad range of year groups, clinging desperately to the tiny shred of respect that his family still possessed. Albus was aware that the Malfoys had generally always been Slytherins and that they were undoubtedly pureblood through and through. He wondered idly how Scorpius could be bothered with it all; the fine breeding and arranged marriages and such. There had been whispers that all this so-called 'pureblood business' had been abolished well over a decade ago, that his own _father _had played a large role in it. But everything that he had heard about it was confused and his dad always blankly refused to discuss it, had shielded the three of them from procuring too much information about the happenings involving him. He knew that his father had duelled a feared dark wizard and won, a wizard whose name was still unused. He had given up on trying to gain any more information about his father's history a few years prior, though it still irritated him that everyone wanted to keep the whole event so quiet.

Albus himself still felt too timid and out of place to really assert himself among his peers, though he was glad that he had found an acquaintance in Scorpius, who seemed to have enough confidence to do so. The boy was pompous and prejudiced, that much was true, but he was _someone _and for the moment that was all that mattered, really. Not to mention that he seemed to have a shred of respect for Albus, as even though their fathers had, apparently, been on opposite sides, he was aware that Harry Potter was a powerful wizard who had likely passed those genes on to his youngest son.

The Slytherin prefect was a boy of athletic build; thick, muscular arms and broad shoulders with a head of waved chestnut hair and glinting steel eyes. He introduced himself as Duncan Parkinson (the Parkinsons, as Scorpius informed him in a heated whisper, were another long line of Slytherins that his family had once been rather close with. By all accounts, Scorpius' father had once had a notorious love affair with Duncan's aunt or something like that in his youth. Albus was losing interest in the workings of the Malfoy family by this point.)

The burly Parkinson led them to the dungeons where, they were informed, they would find their dormitories and their common room. The common room was too cold for Albus' liking despite the fire which roared in the corner, surrounded by a group of leather armchairs where a group of seventh year boys lounged, a girl or two making their way up now and again to whisper something no doubt scandalous to one of the boys, or simply to hover like lapdogs. Albus was immediately intimidated. As though the room itself wasn't bad enough, with its murky greens and blacks. Several pairs of sharp eyes rested upon him at his entrance and he squirmed where he stood. Parkinson smirked back at him.

"Potter," one of the boys by the fire called over. "That's your name, isn't it?" He could only nod. "And what's a blood traitor like your fine self doing in Slytherin house?"

The surrounding Slytherins sneered at him in response, as though his mere presence was toxic. A wave of relief washed over him, however, when Scorpius piped up by his side. "That's uncalled for."

"Malfoy?" The boy's attention was immediately drawn to the blonde instead. "You're a Malfoy, aren't you?"

"I am." A defiant glare rested in slate grey eyes. The seventh year merely scowled at him as though in the presence of a foul insect.

"You're not much better. I'd watch my step if I were you. Your family aren't exactly what they used to be, are they? How's your grandfather doing? Out of Azkaban yet?" The older boy raised a brow. "He was stupid enough to let himself get landed in there. Wasn't able to pay himself out of it this time, was he?"

A furious blush crept up Scorpius' face. "You watch your mouth."

"Or what? You'll have the Dark Lord's bitch assassinate me in my sleep?" A stunned silence settled over the room and even the older boy's peers seemed to be a little uncomfortable. When Scorpius was unable to respond, the older boy merely smirked boldly. "I thought not. Then we don't have a problem, do we? Run along now, little Malfoy."

At that, Parkinson ushered them towards their dormitories where, thankfully, Albus found himself to be sharing a room with Scorpius and two other nameless boys. "Who was that?" he managed to hiss when Parkinson had finally cleared off and they were left to change for bed.

"Bullstrode," Scorpius bit out, clearly still humiliated. "What a thug. And by all accounts his mother was a dog as well. Did you see those teeth? Disgusting."

"And what's he got against me?"

Scorpius raised a brow. "What do you think?" Albus merely shook his head with a light shrug, causing the blonde boy to roll his eyes in a show of great exasperation. "It's _obvious. _His family were on... on _his _side," he managed, stumbling over the words. "Your father defeated him. Some people are still just a _little_ bitter. It's obvious," he repeated, as though that somehow made his argument more credible.

A deep frustration bubbled up inside him. "But I don't see why that has anything to do with _me. _No-one even talks about it anymore. And it was my father who was involved, not me."

"You really think that matters to them? Just because it isn't talked about doesn't mean it's forgotten. It's still a raw wound for a lot of the pureblood families still in existence today. Just... Just don't antagonise them, alright. I'd rather not be hexed in the corridors."

And with that, their conversation was finished for the night, with Scorpius adamantly refusing to discuss such a thing again. Albus relaxed back into the pillow that felt far plumper than his own with a quiet huff, pulling the sheets up to his chin. He would write to his parents at the first opportunity he received tomorrow, preferring that they found out the events of his sorting from himself rather than from James. He could leave out the part about Bullstrode, he decided. He wouldn't worry them. But that thought didn't stop the uncomfortably familiar prickling behind his eyes. It seemed that Scorpius accepted him, but that didn't mean that everyone else would. And it certainly didn't mean that Scorpius would stick around if he was presented with bigger and better offers.

He rolled over and buried his face beneath the sheets with a deep, if slightly shaky, sigh. He would simply take every day as it came. It wasn't necessary to worry about things that hadn't even happened yet.

:: ::

If Albus had thought that his fellow housemates would simply ignore him after the happenings of the previous day, he had been mistaken.

The boy had begun the day by rolling over with a soft groan to see that Scorpius was still asleep. The other two boys, however, were already getting ready. He decided to try to make their acquaintance and only hoped that they would be as easy to gain favour with as Scorpius had been. "Good morning." The two boys jumped a little, startled, and glanced over at him. He was met by twin sneers and raised eyebrows and the two boys left without another word. "Well it's nice to meet you too," he grumbled, before turning his attention to the Malfoy heir. "Scorpius?" When there was no movement, he slipped out of bed and gave the blonde's shoulder a quick shake. "Scorpius."

The boy let out a pathetic whimper that Albus found himself chuckling at a little. "What do you want, Potter?"

"We're going to be late," he responded, with a mental sigh at the use of his surname. Scorpius hadn't once referred to him by his first name, though he had a sneaking suspicion that it was simply how Scorpius had been raised.

With an indignant huff, the boy finally sat up, blonde hair mussed and sticking up at odd angles. "Fine. I'm up. What do we have first?"

Fumbling for a moment in the drawer of his bedside table, Albus finally managed to procure his timetable and scanned it quickly. "Double potions."

"Oh, joy. Pass me my tie, will you?"

It did not take long before the two boys settled into a comfortable quasi-friendship. Breakfast went by without incident, with the exception of a few glances, as everyone seemed too preoccupied comparing timetables to take much notice of the two first years.

Their first class was similarly normal, though Slughorn did appear to be rather excited to finally meet Albus' acquaintance. The old wizard gushed about how excited he had been to see a Potter in his house and how well he had gotten along with his father. The class had then been subjected to a long and tedious lecture about what they would be learning in the months to come and the safety regulations had been given a run through (though Scorpius had quietly sniped to him that he didn't see why such a lecture was necessary - it's common knowledge not to taste anything without having it checked by the professor first, he grumbled.) With that out of the way, the class used the remaining time to take down their first notes. When they finally packed their things away, Albus could not seem to remember a word Slughorn had said.

He had been satisfied at the rate things had been progressing so far, but that all crumbled when he looked through the door of the classroom, which had been left ajar, to see Bullstrode standing outside. His heart plummeted into his stomach and he tried to settle himself, thinking that perhaps Bullstrode simply had to speak to Slughorn about something. That thought dissipated quite quickly when he saw the older boy brutishly cracking his knuckles.

"Scorpius," he hissed over to the blonde boy as they both tossed their supplies into their bags. Said boy glanced up acquiescently.

"Hm?"

"Bullstrode is outside. I think he's waiting for us." He gave a deep swallow in an attempt to steady his voice. _Oh god, _his mind played incessantly, _Oh Merlin I'm going to get hexed on my second day of school. I'm going to get _hexed _they're going to have to send me to the hospital wing oh god oh god. _

"Don't be an idiot, Potter. I'm sure Bullstrode has better things to do than to..." The sneer died on Scorpius' lips, however, when he glanced over towards the open door and saw the older boy, now with a smirk twisting his ugly featured further. "...Or not," he finished with an audible gulp. "We need a plan." He looked towards his companion expectantly.

"You expect me to come up with something?" Albus gaped.

"Your father is Harry Potter. You're bound to have something stored up in that brain of yours, _surely,_" the other boy drawled.

"Right." He took a deep, laboured breath. "Right. We'll split up. He can't go after both of us. One of us will have to turn left and run past him, and the other can go right."

"You'll be the one running left," Scorpius asserted quickly, to which Albus could only give a withering sigh.

"I had thought so. I'll run left, then, and try to lose him and hide in a broom cupboard or something. You go and fetch Parkinson. He's a prefect and even if he doesn't like either of us, he _has _to stop any fighting in the corridors. With any luck they'll catch Bullstrode in the act."

Scorpius frowned. "I really doubt Parkinson will side with us rather than Bullstrode, you know."

"Do you have any better ideas?" When he was met with silence, he continued. "I'd rather get detention than get hexed. Let's just go now, alright?" He received a shaky nod and the two made their way towards the door, before all hell broke loose. Albus darted past Bullstrode, but not without hearing a yelp from Scorpius and several, heavy pairs of footsteps. Of course. They hadn't taken into account the possibility that Bullstrode would bring his little friends along with him. However, there wasn't exactly anything he could do and so he simply kept running.

Bullstrode was hulking and strong, but he wasn't exactly light on his feet. Albus had the advantage of being smaller and more nimble, and so it wasn't long until he had managed to put quite some distance between them. Still unsure as to the exact layout of the castle (he doubted he ever would be) he sprinted down empty corridors until coming to what appeared to be an empty bathroom. Unsure as to whether or not it was for males or females and not particularly caring at the present moment, he ran inside and closed the door behind him, darting over to one of the stalls and locking himself securely inside.

He waited with baited breath for a moment, but when no footsteps followed him inside, he allowed himself to double over, clutching at a tearing stitch in his side and gathering his breath back. How had he managed to get himself into this mess? He hadn't even done anything wrong and he had a group of seventh years out for his blood.

Pushing open the door, he made his way out into the abandoned bathroom. He could have sworn that he had heard his dad and Mr Weasley discussing some girls' bathroom before they were quietened by their wives. He walked slowly around the large, somewhat intimidating stone sinks, before he caught sight of something in one of the bowls. The black leather was in stark contrast to the snow white porcelain and so, unthinkingly, he reached out to grab the small book. It was thick, but fit comfortably in his hand, the leather soft and a little worn. He turned it over to inspect the other side and a small golden plaque glinted near the bottom corner of the diary, proudly displaying the name _Tom Marvolo Riddle. _He flicked it open, pouring over the pages only to discover that they were all blank. He could not quite decipher why, but he decided to hang on to the little book. Perhaps Tom Riddle was another pupil in the school and he could return the diary. After all, it might earn him a little favour. He pocketed the journal, took a deep breath, and made his way over to the bathroom door, pushing it open slowly. At first it seemed that the way was all clear, so he pushed the door a little further, and then a hand secured itself around his upper arm. He gave a surprised cry, stumbling a little, only to be wrenched out of the bathroom by none other than Parkinson, steel grey eyes harsh and unforgiving.

"What the hell do you think you're playing at, Potter?" he demanded, giving the boy a little shake. "That bathroom is out of bounds. What are you doing in a girls' bathroom, anyway?"

"I... I didn't-"

"There he is." Albus started when he heard the familiar voice and turned to see Bullstrode lumbering over towards them. "You got the little troublemaker."

"Caught him loitering around inside the out of use girls' bathroom," Parkinson proclaimed loudly with a jerk of his head towards said room and Albus could have sworn that his cheeks were going to catch fire.

"Little _pervert," _Bullstrode sneered and by the scowl on Parkinson's face, he seemed to be in agreement.

"That's a lie," Albus managed to choke out, "I was hiding from _him. _He was waiting outside the potions room for me."

Parkinson raised a brow and Bullstrode gave a withering sigh. "He's right, I was waiting for him. I wanted to apologise for my words yesterday. We got off on the wrong foot, didn't we, Potter?"

"How sweet," Parkinson drawled, with a lingering glance towards Albus. "You get off this time, Potter. But if I catch you in any restricted areas again, you're done for." With that, he released Albus' arm sharply and the boy staggered, only just managing to catch himself. "Bullstrode, you come with me. Professor McGonagall wants to speak with you about your Transfiguration marks."

Bullstrode gave a little snarl, but shot Albus a forced smile nonetheless. "I'll see you later, Potter." Albus didn't miss the foreshadowing in the sentiment.

:: ::

Albus met up with Scorpius again after their break, in Transfiguration. The blonde boy nearly went into hysterics to see his _somewhat _friend again, spitting out a harsh "Potter," upon noticing him enter the classroom and then demanding to know if it had been his plan all along to send the Malfoy heir on a suicide mission. Albus assured him that it had not been his intention and it seemed as though he was forgiven for now. It seemed that Scorpius had managed to hide inside a broom cupboard for a moment and wait until the group of seventh years ran past, before sprinting to Herbology, the class, it turned out, that Albus had missed. He was rather grateful, however, that his parents were friends with Professor Longbottom and he was sure that he could come up with a convincing lie as to why he wasn't present. In turn, he explained what had happened to him to Scorpius, though omitting the part about the newly discovered journal. Such a thing seemed too exciting a fact to share just yet.

"...And by the way, do you know anyone called Tom Marvolo Riddle?" he finished his little tale. After all, he figured, if anyone knew about _everyone, _it was Scorpius Malfoy, it seemed. However, the boy simply gave a small shake of his head.

"No, I haven't. Why? Should I?"

Albus hesitated a moment, before shaking his head, pulling his book and quill out of his bag. "No. No, I suppose not."

:: ::

After dinner, when the four boys (though two of them still remained unresponsive to his attempts at friendship, or at the very least acquaintanceship) retired to their beds, Albus drew the curtains around him, muttered the 'lumos' charm that he had learned earlier that very day (that one would come in useful, he decided) and looked to the diary once again. He opened it up, pondering whether or not he should write in it. It was someone else's property, after all, but then again, that person had been silly enough to lose such a nice diary in he first place.

He lay on his stomach, chin propped up on one hand, quill poised above the paper. And then, just as it had over two decades ago (though Albus wasn't to know that, of course) a small, insignificant droplet of ink landed upon the paper and was quickly absorbed into it. Wrinkling his nose in confusion (what sort of paper was this?) he dipped the nib of his quill into the inkwell once again, and scratched out the one sentence that started it all:

'_Hello. My name is Albus Potter.' _

The ink stayed there for a moment and then sank into the paper as though it had never been there at all. And then the diary responded.

'_**Hello, Albus Potter. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come across my diary?' **_


End file.
